


Showing, Not Telling

by zelda_zee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-28
Updated: 2012-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-04 11:45:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelda_zee/pseuds/zelda_zee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean teaches Castiel about bondage. PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Showing, Not Telling

Dean’s not altogether comfortable with the idea, but then it wasn’t exactly his in the first place. All he’d said is, _What do you want to watch?_ , and Castiel had said, _Whatever you want_ and Dean had smirked and said, _Well, how about the porn channel?_ , knowing that Castiel would frown and press his lips together in silent disapproval and they’d end up watching some show on PBS about zebras or black holes, but instead Castiel had just nodded and said, _The porn channel will be fine._

“Wait,” Dean says. He’s standing beside the bed, holding the channel guide. “You don’t actually _want_ to watch the porn channel. You’re just trying to humor me, right?”

Castiel looks up at him from where he is seated on the bed. “If I weren’t here, would you be watching porn?”

“Well, yeah,” Dean admits. “Probably.”

“Pornographic films are very popular,” Castiel says. “I would like to understand why humans like them. I would like to understand why _you_ like them. Maybe I’ll like them too.”

Dean grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “I kinda doubt that.”

Castiel does that head tilty thing that Dean absolutely cannot resist. He has no idea the effect it has on Dean, which only makes it worse. God, if anyone knew what a teenaged girl Dean has turned into since he and Cas started this _thing_ \- Dean absolutely refuses to call it a relationship – he’d never be able to hold his head up in public.

It’s still pretty new, this _thing_ between them; new enough that moments like this can be a little awkward, what with Cas’s inexperience and Dean’s worry that he’s going to fuck everything up, not to mention how weird the idea of having sex with an angel is – let alone the reality of it. 

Because, yeah. Having sex with an angel is weird, there’s no getting around that. For one thing, Castiel doesn’t have any frame of reference for sex. Sure, he’s observed humanity for eons, so it’s not like any of it surprises or shocks him. But things that have an effect on most humans simply don’t on him. Dirty talk, for instance. Castiel doesn’t feel shame about sex (although Dean had thought he might, considering the Bible’s views on the kind of things they do), so doing or saying things that people find arousing because they’re not supposed to find them arousing just doesn’t work on him.

Also, you don’t just _fuck_ an angel. It’s not a hook-up of the type of which Dean once was so fond. It’s not even primarily about sex with Castiel. There’s so much more to it – the way Castiel touches Dean as if he’s something precious, the way his eyes hold Dean’s and refuse to look away even in their most intimate moments. There’s nothing studied about it, no exaggeration or faking or play-acting. It’s all so fucking _honest_ \- and if Dean has a hard time dealing with that he’s just got to suck it up if he wants to be with Castiel, because Castiel only knows one way to be.

And then there’s the little matter of Castiel being an otherworldly creature of infinite power and majesty. Dean tries not to think about that when they’re actually in bed together, but every once in a while a stray thought gets through and makes him break out in a sweat.

He’s pretty sure that watching a porno with an angel is just one more step downward on the ladder that leads to his eternal damnation.

On the other hand, been there, done that, lived to sin again.

“Oh, what the hell. Move over.” Dean plops down beside Cas and plumps up the pillows, making himself comfortable.

“You sure about this?” Dean raises an eyebrow, attempting a stern look. It’s not easy to keep it there though when Cas gives him a little smile, because Cas’s smiles are rare and fleeting things and Dean won’t admit, even to himself, how much effort he expends on a daily basis trying to coax one onto Castiel’s face. He feels his expression falter even more when Cas leans close and says, “I'm sure,” before his lips press softly against Dean’s.

“Okay,” he says, when Cas pulls away. “It’s your funeral,” and he punches the numbers for the porn channel into the remote.

The movie is much like most of the other pornos Dean has seen, neither better nor worse; bad music, bad acting, lots of shaved pussies and big dicks. It’s weird watching it with Castiel, who has had no discernable outward reaction to it other than, at one point, moving to sit between Dean’s legs, leaning back against his chest, his head resting on Dean’s shoulder. Dean’s arms go around his waist, hands resting on Castiel’s stomach. He’s not sure if he should be explaining things, or commenting on the acts performed or maybe apologizing for the bad performances or lack of plot. The truth is, it’s more than a little distracting to have Castiel in his arms like this and he isn’t even paying all that much attention to the movie, preferring to concentrate on kissing and nipping at the back of Castiel’s neck, and rubbing his face in his hair.

“I do not understand that,” Castiel says.

Dean’s got no idea what’s happening on the television at this point. He’s got his eyes closed, just kind of spacing out and feeling the weight of Cas’s body against his and inhaling the scent that clings to him, something strange and rich that Dean’s never been able to put a name to.

“What? The movie?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss behind Castiel’s ear.

“Not all of it,” Castiel says. “Just _that_.”

Dean opens his eyes to see that the movie has moved on to a bondage scene. A girl with long blond hair is tied spread-eagled to a bed while a dark haired woman in a patent leather corset, fishnets and five-inch heels works her over with hands and mouth and a sleek purple vibrator. She’s wearing a strap-on, which Dean assumes is the cause of Castiel’s confusion.

“Um,” says Dean. “Well, that’s a thing that girls wear when they want to fuck each other or, uh.” _Oh God_ , he thinks, dying a little inside. “Or they can use it to fuck a guy. If, if that’s the kind of thing they’re into.” He thinks back to the night of the pink panties and hopes Castiel isn’t privy to that particular memory. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“No, I understand that,” Castiel says.

“You do?” Dean can’t keep the surprise out of his voice, but then he sometimes forgets that inexperience isn’t the same thing as ignorance. 

“Yes, Dean, it is a variation on copulation. It makes sense that humans would have the urge to copulate, regardless of the configuration of gender. What I don’t understand is why one might find it appealing to be restrained. Or to restrain another. It serves no purpose. I cannot imagine that it would be a pleasant experience.”

“It can be,” Dean says, as the blond in the porno moans extravagantly, tugging at her bindings. “It can be more than ‘pleasant’.”

“But why?” Castiel turned to look at him, eyes wide and at that moment, despite what Dean knows of him, he does look the picture of innocence.

“Okay,” Dean says, muting the sound so he can concentrate on the question. “It’s a matter of trust. You have to trust someone to let them tie you up. It’s like, the person who gets tied up _submits_ , and that’s hot.” He eyes Castiel doubtfully. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“No.” Castiel glances at the screen, where the blonde is writhing in her bonds as her partner gets in position to fuck her with the strap-on. He turns back to Dean. “I think I have seen enough pornography for tonight.”

Dean changes the channel. Masterpiece Theatre is on PBS and he figures that’s probably more up Castiel’s alley, and indeed Castiel settles back against him again with a contented sigh, and really, Dean couldn’t care less that they’re no longer watching porn.

“What I don’t understand,” Castiel says out of the blue, about fifteen minutes into the program, “is why a person would want to submit in that manner. I understand that the dominant person may enjoy being in control,” he looks at Dean for confirmation, then continues at Dean’s nod, “but why would the person who is submissive enjoy being powerless?”

It’s a simple enough question, but one Dean has to pause before attempting to answer. “They’re not exactly powerless, first of all. They can stop things whenever they want to.”

“Then what is the point?”

“The point – the point is – submitting is hot.” Castiel looks at him blankly. “Relinquishing control, putting yourself entirely at someone else’s mercy, it’s a rush – for both people involved.” He stops, at a loss for how to explain, when he’s seized by a sudden inspiration. A brilliant inspiration, if he says so himself. “Cas, do you trust me?”

“You know that I do, Dean,” Castiel says with the utmost solemnity.

“Then let’s do it,” Dean says. “I can’t _tell_ you so you’ll understand, but maybe I can _show_ you. You just have to let me, um.” He swallows, finding it more difficult to say than he expected, especially with Castiel watching him with that intent stare that Dean really should be used to by now. “If you let me, you know, tie you up, then I can show you. I don’t think it’s one of those things that it’s really possible to explain in words.”

“You want to tie me up.” Castiel states, looking at Dean strangely.

“I know it sounds weird,” Dean says. “But if you want to understand… We don’t have to. It was just an idea.”

“All right.”

“What?”

“All right. I will let you tie me up.” Castiel shrugs. “I don’t know if it will work, but I will allow it.”

Dean suddenly finds himself a little short of breath. They’re going to do this? He’s going to tie Castiel to the bed and do dirty things to him? Oh God. He shivers. This is going to be the hottest thing ever.

Or it’s equally possible that it won’t work at all, that Castiel will have no reaction to it. But Dean’s willing to take that chance.

The bed actually has a headboard, which is lucky. It’s in a fake colonial style, which means there are newels that he can use to attach the ropes to.

“I need to get… In the trunk there are…” Dean stands up, almost stumbling in his haste. “I’ll be right back.” He grabs his keys off the dresser, then turns back. Castiel is sitting in the middle of the bed, his face very nearly expressionless. There’s something there though, something that Dean can’t quite put his finger on – anticipation, curiosity, excitement – he’s not sure what. “You should get naked,” he says, then hurries outside.

He finds what he needs without any trouble, a coil of smooth, sturdy rope. Back in the room, he stops short just inside the door, his breath catching in his throat. Castiel has turned off the television and the overhead light (probably with nothing more than a thought), leaving just the light from the bedside lamp. He’s naked, lying on the bed, waiting. His eyes move from Dean’s face, to the rope in his hand, then back to his face.

Dean closes the door with a soft click, locks it and carefully re-salts the threshold. He makes a quick detour to his pack for lube, pulls the switchblade from his pocket and cuts two lengths of rope and then he’s standing over Castiel. Castiel meets his gaze, doesn’t react when Dean’s eyes sweep down his body, taking him in. It’s a body Dean is learning to know well, but not one that has become altogether familiar. And no matter how familiar it may become, Dean thinks it will never be like it would be with anyone else – with a human – because although Castiel’s body reacts like a man’s and although Castiel feels the physical sensations a man would, Dean cannot forget that the being who is experiencing those reactions and sensations is not human and that this body is not his (or, if Dean is being brutally honest with himself, _its_ ) true form.

Sometimes, when things are at their most intense, he gets a sense of Castiel on some level beyond touch and sight – the strangeness of him, the otherworldliness. It used to scare Dean when he glimpsed that, back when he first met Castiel – when Castiel showed his wings, when he threatened to throw Dean back into the Pit. That seems so long ago, with everything he and Cas have been through since. Now, when Cas looks into his eyes and Dean gets a glimpse of the cold, clean, neverending expanse of eternity it’s not scary anymore because – because it’s Castiel, who would have given up everything for Dean. 

Maybe it’s some kind of perversion on his part, but Dean thinks that, to some extent, it’s that very strangeness that makes it all so intriguing. After all, Dean’s had a lot of sex in his life. A lot of women and a fair number of men, and no one has captured his attention like Cas. And Cas has done it without even trying, which is the most disconcerting thing. He does not have the ability to be coy, or to flirt or seduce. He simply _is_ and that, apparently, is enough to make Dean crazy.

Castiel shifts under his regard, stretches his body out in a way that reminds Dean of a cat stretching on a warm patch of sidewalk on a sunny day. Dean wonders if Castiel likes it when he looks at him, but it seems like it would be an odd question to ask and one Castiel wouldn’t be likely to understand, so Dean keeps it to himself.

“You need to lift your hands above your head,” Dean says, and Castiel wordlessly complies. It makes Dean’s mouth go dry, that unquestioning obedience. He doesn’t deserve it, he knows that much.

Dean ties Castiel’s wrists together, then ties them to one of the newels in the center of the headboard, leaving a short length of rope between so that he has the option of turning Castiel onto his stomach if he wants to. He thinks he may want to.

“I can easily free myself from this,” Castiel says, tilting his head back to observe Dean’s handiwork. It’s true of course. No matter the strength of the rope, or the expert complexity of Dean’s knots, Castiel could be free in an instant.

Dean finishes the last knot, tugs on them all to test them. Then he very deliberately straddles Castiel’s hips and places one hand on either side of his head, leaning down until they are quite close.

“But you won’t,” he says. “Do you know why you won’t?”

“No.” Castiel is watching him carefully, taking cues from Dean as to how he should respond in this unfamiliar situation. It makes it hit home that Dean needs to do this right. He needs to truly be in control, because Castiel is on totally foreign ground.

“Because I don’t want you to and you want to please me,” he says. He’s going out on a limb with that assumption, but when Castiel’s eyes widen he knows he’s right. Dean briefly considers trying to explain about safewords, before discarding that idea as too complicated. They’ll be fine if they just keep it simple. “If you don’t like something, just say so and I’ll stop, understand? Don’t just lay there and take it – you have to tell me.”

“All right.”

“You swear?”

A little smile ghosts over Castiel’s lips. “Yes. I swear.”

“Good.” Dean drops a row of kisses along Castiel’s jaw toward his ear.

“What are you going to do to me?” Castiel asks curiously, turning his head to look at Dean. His eyes, this close, are an impossibly deep blue.

Dean brushes his fingers over Castiel’s mouth, then his cheek and Castiel’s eyes fall closed. “So much,” Dean whispers. “I’m going to do so much to you.” 

He presses his lips to Castiel’s, teases them apart with soft, barely there kisses until he can’t stand it, then he fits his mouth over Castiel’s and kisses him slowly and thoroughly and deeply until Castiel is pushing up hungrily against him, kissing him back with that intention and focus that is always present in Castiel, never more intensely, Dean has discovered, than during sex. 

He pulls back and Castiel tries to follow, frowning in momentary consternation when he reaches the extent of the rope’s give. For a second Dean thinks that he’ll free himself and end the game, but then Castiel falls back onto the mattress with a sigh.

“I suspect this will be an exercise in frustration,” Castiel says, twisting his wrists experimentally against the bindings.

“There might be some frustration involved, yeah.” Dean covers Castiel’s hands with is own, stilling him. “But it’s supposed to be a good kind of frustration, so if it’s not –”

“I must tell you, I know,” Castiel finishes for him. He gazes up at Dean, eyes slightly hazy, lips flushed. It’s a wonder how little it takes to make him look debauched, but maybe that’s because he’s normally so reserved that even the slightest little mussing of his hair or pinking of his skin makes him look like sin incarnate. Or maybe it’s just that Dean is hopelessly smitten, a possibility that seems all the more likely when Castiel smiles and Dean’s stomach does a quick, vertiginous flip.

He runs his hands down Castiel’s arms, through the soft hair of his armpits, over the smooth skin of his sides. Castiel arches unselfconsciously into his touch, gasps quietly when Dean’s palms flatten over his belly and slide up to his chest, thumbs brushing back and forth over his nipples until they harden. He squirms and Dean’s not sure if he’s trying to get away or trying to get more. Dean decides to assume the latter, plucks and tugs until Castiel is shuddering and panting.

“Dean. _Ah_ ”

“I could do this all day,” Dean says, wearing what he knows is a slightly evil smirk. 

Castiel’s eyes widen in dismay. “I sincerely hope that is not your intention.”

“No,” Dean says, licking over a nipple and savoring the little gasp he gets in response. “That’s not my intention. Not exactly.”

He sits up to strip off his t-shirt, followed by the rest of his clothing, enjoying Castiel’s attention, the hunger in his eyes as he watches Dean disrobe. Naked, he crawls between Castiel’s legs, nudging them out wider with his knees. Castiel freezes for a moment, before making a visible effort to relax, and Dean wonders about that. Cas has never resisted or protested a single thing they’ve done together, but he wonders if maybe this little game is going to test his limits.

He appears at ease again though, sprawled easily across the bed. He looks amazing, golden skin and long, lean muscles and a hard cock curving gently back toward his belly. With his arms above his head, the neatly tied ropes around his wrists, he looks like some kind of impossibly gorgeous and tempting offering laid at Dean’s feet. _Beautiful_ , is the word that springs to Dean’s mind; not a word that he’s likely to let pass his lips.

“So fuckin’ hot,” is what he says instead, but it must be pleasing enough to Castiel, who shivers at the words.

Castiel licks his lips and says, with a rasp in his voice, “As are you.”

Dean lets his fingertips trail up Cas’ thigh, thumb brushing into the crease, then along the line of muscle at his hip, hands firm but gentle, touching places he already knows well and places he’s never explored before. Castiel makes breathless little sounds and shifts restlessly on the bed, moving into Dean, following the path of his hands with tensed muscles, his body asking mutely for more.

“Dean,” Cas gasps as Dean’s nails scrape lightly up the insides of his thighs. He spreads his legs wider, muscles taut and shivering, as Dean traces the faint pink scratches left on Castiel’s skin with his tongue. Castiel arches, panting, makes a mewling sound as Dean licks upward, settling in to suck a bruise that won’t last beneath his hipbone. He noses Castiel’s stomach, licks into his navel, his hands gripping sharp hipbones, holding him down when he tries to buck.

Castiel’s prick nudges his chin, leaving a smear of wet, and Dean tilts his head down and licks around the head. “Oh,” Castiel says, back bowing up off the bed. Dean pushes his tongue into the hole at the tip and wiggles it around. _”Oh”_. Castiel sounds pained, but it’s a good pain, Dean decides as he continues to torment him with lips and tongue until, with a deep shudder Castiel bursts out with, ““Please. Dean, _oh_ , take me in your mouth. Please, give me your mouth.”

Dean groans, shuddering a bit himself. That’s the first time Castiel has ever begged him for anything, and there’s no denying the effect it has on him. He wonders, as he rubs against the mattress, seeking some relief for his aching cock, whether he has it in him to see the game through until the end, as he’d planned. He wants Castiel _now_ , and he can take him now, if he wants to. Castiel will let him, will apparently beg him for it. 

Dean groans again at the thought, as he fits his lips tightly around the head of Castiel’s cock and slides down the shaft. Castiel makes a high, helpless sound, head tossing on the pillow, hips twisting beneath Dean’s hands. He’s a hot weight against Dean's tongue, filling his mouth, bumping gently against the back of his throat. For a few moments Dean simply closes his eyes and loses himself in the rhythm, the human, salty taste, the smell of sex that surrounds them, until Cas thrusts suddenly, slipping all the way in, crying out as Dean holds him there and swallows around him.

He pulls off then, leans up on his hands and looks down at Cas. Cas stares back at him, wild-eyed, lips reddened from where he was biting them. The ropes are still around his wrists, though Cas’s hands are in fists.

“I want to touch you,” he says, an edge of desperation to his voice. “Dean, I want to touch you. Let me, I want – I want –” his words devolving into little urgent gasps as Dean takes Cas’ balls into his hand, fingers stroking back to his perineum.

Of course, in reality Castiel doesn’t need Dean’s permission to free himself, only it appears that now he feels that he does. It’s very… affecting. 

“You can’t, though, right?” Dean says, sitting back on his heels to look up the length of Castiel’s body. He reaches further back, touches Cas’ entrance with a fingertip and Castiel spreads wider, thighs trembling. Cas is staring at him as if Dean is the only thing that exists for him at that moment, as if wanting him is the only thing he can imagine. “Why can’t you touch me, Cas?”

Castiel takes a little hitching breath, eyes widening. “Because – ” He licks his lips. “Because you tied my hands.”

Dean shakes his head. “No, Cas. That’s not why. We both know you could be out of those ropes in a second. Try again – why can’t you touch me?”

Castiel stares at him, breathing fast and Dean waits, wanting to see if he gets it. “I don’t – _oh_.” Comprehension dawns and the sudden illumination is so obvious makes Dean smile. “Because you told me not to. I can’t touch you because you want me –” His voice drops to a whisper. “You want me like this.”

“I do.” Dean presses his finger more firmly against the opening, feels the muscles jump at his touch. He leans forward and nudges Cas’ chin up so he can kiss his neck. “I want you just like this. I like you like this, Cas.”

Castiel gasps, arching his neck. “I like this,” he chokes out, voice hoarse and low. “I like this, Dean.”

“You get it now?” Dean murmurs, lips moving against the warm skin of Castiel’s neck.

“Yes,” Castiel rasps. He turns his head to look at Dean, eyes so bright, so hungry. “I want you to do what you want to me. Anything you want. Please, Dean. Anything.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, mouth suddenly dry, mind stuttering at the surrender he sees on Cas's face. He _does_ get it, Dean realizes. He absolutely gets it. “Yeah, okay. Let’s… why don’t you…”

Dean’s been in control this whole time, but feels it start to unravel now, and hell no, he won’t let himself go, not when Cas has so fully given in. He owes it to him for this to be good, really good, all the way through, start to finish.

“Anything I want.” He rubs over Cas’ hole, fingertip dragging at the rim; dry, but Cas doesn’t seem to mind. His lips part on a sigh that ends in _Dean_. “Can you guess what I want, Cas?”

Cas just makes a noise, incoherent, desperate, and Dean wonders if it makes him a bad person to love driving his angel out of his mind so much. Then he wonders if he’s a bad person for thinking of Cas as “his”.

“C’mon, guess,” he urges, wiggling the tip of his finger inside Cas’ body, and Cas’ eyes snap open. Beneath the arousal Dean can see frustration, maybe even annoyance.

“Dean,” Cas growls. “You – you are playing with me.”

Dean grins, unrepentant. “I am. It’s my game and this is how the rules work. So quit stalling or we’ll never get anywhere.”

“You want to fuck me.” Cas glares at him, impatient, challenging. “That’s what you want.”

“Bingo.” He leans in close, so his cheek brushes Castiel’s, speaking low. “But I want to lick you open first.” He feels Cas shiver. “You want that, Cas?”

“Yes. Oh, yes, Dean,” Castiel breathes fervently, the annoyance of a second ago forgotten.

“Turn over then.” Dean moves out of the way and Castiel flips easily onto his stomach then comes up onto hands and knees, moving fluidly despite his bonds. Dean passes his hands over the smooth curves of his ass, admiring, then spreads his cheeks and laps at his tight, quivering hole. He prods at it with the tip of his tongue, then teases it open with quick, barely-there flicks, finally worming his way in deeper as the muscle loosens. Cas has gone down onto his elbows and is moaning into the pillow, sounding completely undone, thrusting his ass shamelessly back onto Dean’s tongue, his cock bobbing between his legs, precome dripping onto the sheets. It’s unbelievably hot, to have Castiel mindless, wordless, squirming on the end of his tongue, and Dean thinks the only thing better would be to have him on the end of his dick instead, which he decides is long overdue.

He’s been good, he really has. Now he’s going to fuck Cas into the mattress.

Dean’s tongue wasn’t really enough to stretch him, so Dean makes himself hold back, clenching his jaw and breathing between his teeth as the silken hold of Castiel’s body tries to pull him in.

“Dean.” Castiel flexes his hips, pushing into the hold Dean has on him. “I do not require – please, I need, I need you to – _ohhh_ , yes, yes, like that, Dean, _Dean_.”

Dean bottoms out with a moan, his vision blurring as every bit of his being narrows down to the sensation of finally being inside Castiel. He’s panting, sweating, his whole body lit up like a firecracker. He’s not going to last, but then neither, he expects, is Cas. He snaps his hips forward, pushing a harsh, gutteral sound out of Cas and then instinct takes over and Dean is slamming into him, uncontrolled and rough and Cas is writhing beneath him, taking everything Dean gives him, his body taut and vibrating with want.

Dean looses a breath that’s more of sob, rubs the heel of his palms down Castiel’s back and grips his shoulders tight, pulling him back onto his dick in short, hard thrusts. The headboard slaps against the wall and the ropes must be rubbing Cas’s wrists raw and he’s being too rough, too selfish and Dean doesn’t care. He doesn’t care because this is _Cas_ and Cas can take whatever Dean gives him. Not just take it, he’s greedy for it, he’s begging Dean for it and Dean is greedy too, greedy and selfish and he thinks, despairing, that he’ll never get enough, never.

“Come for me,” Dean growls, barely able to draw breath to get the words out. “Wanna feel you come for me.” He grasps Castiel’s cock, but before he can stroke Castiel utters a strangled half-scream and pushes into his hand, gushing hotly over his fingers. 

Dean shoves in deep and holds, feels Cas pulsing around him and lets himself go, splintering into a thousand pieces, doubling over until his forehead is resting between Cas’ shoulder blades, pouring himself out into him in vibrant, ecstatic bursts that shake him to the core.

“Holy fuck,” Dean groans against Cas’ skin. He stays still, trying to breathe and shivering with aftershocks for a long, quiet moment, then slides sideways onto the bed, laying in a crumpled heap.

Castiel stays as he is, on knees and elbows. “Indeed, it was.” His voice is wrecked, and the sound of it makes Dean’s groin tighten futilely.

With a Herculean effort Dean turns his head to look at him. Perspiration makes Cas’ skin gleam and the ends of his hair curl at the back of his neck. Gingerly, Castiel shifts, straightening out on the bed, hands still bound above his head.

“You okay?” Dean asks, seeing him move with uncharacteristic care. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" In Dean's experience it's nearly impossible to hurt Castiel.

“Not at all. But I can feel you still.” Cas meets his eyes. “It aches, but not unpleasantly.” His face is relaxed, his expression open, sated. 

Dean leans up on an elbow and begins untying the knots. Castiel could make them disappear with a thought, but for whatever reason he lies still and lets Dean release him, watching Dean’s hands as he works. When the rope comes free, he examines his wrists. There are red lines where the rope rubbed against his skin that fade as they watch.

He moves closer to Dean and Dean drapes an arm around his waist. Castiel likes to cuddle, which came as quite the surprise to Dean, who’s not usually into that, especially with guys. But of course, Castiel is not a guy, so none of the usual rules apply, Dean tells himself, as he draws Castiel in against him.

“That was an effective demonstration,” Castiel murmurs. He stretches, humming contentedly. “You are a good teacher, Dean.”

Dean smiles as he combs his fingers through Castiel’s messy hair. “And you’re a quick study who takes direction well. Makes it easy.”

They lay in silence for a few moments, and Dean is just starting to drift off when Cas speaks.

“I imagine there must be other things that you could teach me through practical demonstration.”

“ _Things_?”

“Things that you might show me that have not presented themselves yet. That might not present themselves in the – normal – course of things.”

Dean thinks of the possibilities, shuffling through the extensive catalog of kinky sex acts that lives in his head.

“I could probably come up with an idea or two.” He gives Cas a nudge with his knee, adding, “Perv.”

Castiel just smiles.


End file.
